


Morning

by witchmaidensworld



Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, derails to AU, retired and getting old and happily married, the future they deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchmaidensworld/pseuds/witchmaidensworld
Summary: Qrow hates getting flashbacks to things he doesn't want to remember. Clover is there to hold him through the storm.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 76





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I did try to make this a fluffy slice of life fic. But as usual, it derailed very quickly into angst. :P
> 
> Still, I think it turned out well! 
> 
> Let me know what you think! :)

Mornings had never appealed to Qrow. Sure, he’d dealt with his fair share of watching the sunrise, especially while he was on task for Ozpin and his inner circle. But Qrow still enjoyed taking advantage of times when he could stay in bed past noon.

He moved his arm, finding only an empty space where his partner should have been. He opened one eye with a groan, eyeing the empty space with an irritated sigh. 

“Damn…” Qrow rolled onto his side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, shivering without the several layers of blankets. He reached up a hand to rub his hair, more irritation building at the way his hair continued to stick up in random directions when he slept. 

A clatter from the kitchen attracted his attention, confirming the whereabouts of his partner. The aging huntsman stood, stretching out his back, and heading toward the kitchen. Stopping in the doorway, Qrow Branwen took the opportunity to study his partner in detail while his arrival was still unnoticed.

Clover Ebi had aged gracefully, as it was often said. There was only a hint of his original auburn left in his gray hair, the color concentrated around his ears. His posture hadn’t lessened over time either, he still held himself as straight as the Atlas soldier he’d once been. Clover briefly paused, one hand turning on the faucet to fill the coffee pot with water to brew, the light from the early sun glinting off the ring on his hand. Twenty two years later, and Qrow’s heart still swelled almost to bursting at the sight of it. 

“You know, in most polite societies, staring is considered rude,” Clover said, his gaze never moving away from his task of making coffee. 

“Only rude if you’re staring at a stranger,” Qrow quipped back, pushing away from the doorframe and coming over to Clover. “We’ve been married long enough to be past that.”

“Have we?” Clover glanced upward, mentally counting. He nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So we have.” 

Qrow slipped his arm around Clover’s middle, still marveling at how much taller the other man was. More than that, it still unsettled him how many gaps were left in Clover’s memory. “Serious injuries tend to do that; the individual can be prone to completely blocking out most, if not all, of an event.” The doctor had said, his tone nearly conspiratorial whispered, as if there was some danger of the unconscious huntsman could hear them. "Oftentimes they don’t have the control to choose what else disappears with it.” 

“You’re doing it again.” Clover reached up to pull two mugs down from the cupboard. 

Qrow withdrew his arm, folding them across his chest. “Doing what?” 

“That thing you do when you’re trying to hide how far deep into memory you’ve gone.” He waved a hand toward Qrow’s face. “It’s all over your expression. So, we can make this easy and you can tell me, or we can make it hard.”

“What’s the hard way?”

Clover’s grin was absolutely shit eating. Qrow narrowed his gaze, glaring at him. 

“You don’t get any of the waffles I’m about to make.” 

“...ouch.” Qrow forced himself not to smile, no sense in feeding into Clover’s game. Though he was grateful for once their kitchen was silent and empty, most mornings with Clover’s cooking brought about company of five or more of their family. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again- effectively spiking it even more, if Clover’s grin was anything to go by. “Fine, you got me. I was thinking about the accident again.”

“Qrow…”

His hands tightened to fists, itching to be shoved into pockets. He hadn’t bothered dressing before leaving their room, still only wearing boxer shorts and thin t shirt. “I know, I know. Dwelling on the past isn’t healthy.” 

“You’ve been getting better,” Clover pointed out gently, having stopped in his preparations to cook breakfast. “Your relapse was only temporary, and you’ve come so far.”

“It’s not enough,” he hissed, taking a step back toward the doorway. His shoulder bumped against the wall. “I know it was years ago, I know I’ve made a recovery again. I know you’re here and alive and breathing. But god dammit… Sometimes I still see you in that hospital bed, and I just…” His voice thinned to a choked whisper. “I just can’t take it.” 

“What happened wasn’t your fault, or your choice.” Clover crossed his arms in a similar manner, leaning back against the counter. “We all knew what was at stake when we went up against Salem.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed me--”

“She was going to kill you, like she killed Ozpin.” His tone hardened. “You were sabotaging her plans for years. I couldn’t let her do that to you.”

Qrow rubbed both hands over his face, palms against his eyes hard enough to make spots of color appear. He knew Clover was right, he knew if their positions had been reversed he would have done the same thing. 

But he still didn’t want to keep remembering.

“Qrow!”   
Salem’s hand was right there. Too close, too close. And Clover- dear, lovely, charming Clover--

Qrow had seen death countless times before. He knew when a strike would come, and had worked hard to not feel emotion when blood was spilled and bodies fell. He had never once envisioned his own. A part of his semblance, there were a million ways he could die. Some days he felt as if he would never survive long enough to watch his hair turn gray and whiten. To hang up his weapon and cloak. To live peacefully with his loved ones as they too grew older.

The conjured spear in the witch’s hand hurtled through the air toward him, aimed toward his chest. Qrow’s mind screamed at him to run, to move out of the way. But his legs refused to change their position, his arm slowly lowering Harbinger. Accepting fate, that was the other half of his semblance. He was always bound to bring bad luck, but to accept it was mastery of his gift. 

A shoulder rammed hard into him, sending Qrow sprawling to the ground. The breath was knocked from his lungs, for a moment his vision dotted with spots of black. He shook his head to clear it, and his blood ran cold at the sight waiting for him.

Clover had dropped to his knees, right hand clenched around the shaft of the conjured spear now protruding from his chest. Qrow stared, feeling deja vu slam back into him from another time, another weapon sticking out of his friend’s body.

“I’ve got him!” Jaune was immediately by Clover’s side, faster than Qrow could even move. His aura spread across the older huntsman, containing and healing the wound.

But the blood remained. The spear remained. And Qrow’s rage and heartbreak was more than he could contain.

“You didn’t lose me with Tyrian. You didn’t lose me with Salem either.” Clover paused, his voice bringing Qrow slowly back to the present. “If anything, I had more control the second time around.”

“You still got hurt. I hated seeing that.”

“And I hate you thinking you somehow deserve to be hurt instead.” Leaving the support of the counter, Clover approached Qrow to place a hand against his cheek. “It happened, I know that. But it was so long ago. We’re retired, remember? We’re supposed to leave the doom and gloom to the next generation.”

Qrow laughed breathlessly. Clover’s touch always managed to calm his raging thoughts, and he could feel himself stilling. “There,” the taller man said softly, stroking his thumb against Qrow’s cheek. 

“You’re already feeling better.”

“Only cause I’ve got you around, Lucky Charm.”

One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “And you’ll have me until we die.” 

Qrow closed his eyes, thinking to the last time Clover had spoken something similar. He breathed out slowly, relaxing further into Clover’s touch. “I guess I really did get lucky, huh?”

“Darling, we both got lucky. Marrying you was the best thing I’ve ever done.” 

The embrace and kiss that followed was nothing but steadfast. They had overcome death together, defeated Salem together. And now Qrow could spend the rest of his life guilt-free with Clover. They still had scars, and too many nightmares to talk about. But Qrow knew he would never be able to live without the man holding him. They had each other.

He couldn’t ever ask for more.


End file.
